Carry on my Wayward Son(s and Daughters)
by PhoenixPulse
Summary: God sits on top of the Pyramids of Giza, deep in thought. His creations are turning against each other, slaughtering for their own ambitions. No wonder the humans have been losing faith over the years. So He does the one thing left to do—He wipes them a brand new slate. [As of right now, a one shot. additional chapters may be later added]


**Carry on my Wayward Son(s and Daughters)**

God sits on top of the Pyramids of Giza, deep in thought. His creations are turning against each other, slaughtering for their own ambitions. No wonder the humans have been losing faith over the years. So He does the one thing left to do—He wipes them a brand new slate.

* * *

||CHAPTER ONE :: They Echo in His Ears||

GIZA, EGYPT

Its dusk; the sky burns of a hazy orange as God sits on top of the Pyramid of Khufu, the largest and oldest of pyramids in Cairo. It's his favorite thinking spot, so filled with history and comforting to think that humans have once stood where he now perches, proving to be magnificent creators, just as He intended them to be.

He has plenty of thinking spots scattered around the world: sometimes He lingers around the Stonehenge of Wiltshire, just looking up at the clouds, other times He hikes in solitude upon the Table Mountain of South Africa. Tonight however, He's feeling Egypt.

"Is this where you come to brood?" A voice drawls from behind him, but God doesn't flinch or jump at his new company. In fact, he lets a gentle smile grace the face of his…vessel. Looking over his shoulder, He waves for the tall, skinny man dressed in black to join him.

"I have many places where I go to contemplate things," He says, when Death settles himself to his left. "I wouldn't exactly call it brooding, however. I think of it more as a self-assessment or evaluation." At this, Death snorts, looking out into the darkening horizon. Both their legs are dangling, and from the ground, a tourist or local would perhaps assume they were childish Americans searching for trouble, not harboring a slightest guess that those men were God and Death themselves.

"Would it be rude if I told you that my personal evaluation of you is quite poor at the moment?" Death speaks casually. He's not afraid of his current company; they're on the same footing, almost if not, equal. The Creator shrugged, not at all bothered by the entity's input.

"Many would say that, and I cannot deny where you are coming from." God replies. Death sharply inhales.

"This world that you adore is going to burn to the ground if you do not intervene sooner or later," Death presses. "Truly, it shouldn't be much of my concern—I can go anywhere in the universe and not miss this petri dish at all. But you care for it, and as long as this place exists, I have a job to do and I can't really leave."

"The damage has been done though," God sighs tiredly. He's getting old and growing weary. "It's beyond even my repair." At this, the entity scoffed in disbelief.

"What do you mean it's beyond your repair?" Death queries, but before God could answer, Death continues. The question was meant to be rhetorical. "Your holier-than-thou children are slaughtering each other for power on Earth because your conniving little scribe has Heaven on lockdown. The humans are drowning in bitterness and hatred day by day, losing faith in a God who fails to intervene. And you, you're _God _himself, the Creator. Isn't it time to take responsibility of all your wayward children who are running amuck?" Death exhales. "I don't understand your motives—you literally hold the leash around their necks, yet you let them run free. I had to intervene with the disastrous Purgatory issue, and let me remind you your little soldier Castiel tried to walk around in Daddy's heels. Surely you also knew of the Leviathans?" Looking expectantly at God, Death found himself disappointed to see the man smiling.

"I'm certain you've heard the saying 'God works in mysterious ways', yes?"

"You are hopeless," Death sighed defeated. At this, God frowned.

"I know my lack of intervention isn't exactly sporting the best of outcomes, but things will straighten up in the end. They always do."

"Like how two of your oldest Archangels are stewing in the Cage, and since Michael's absence there has been a bloody power struggle? I don't know about you, but things are still piling up on one another."

"There has always been a power struggle, even before Michael was imprisoned." God raised his voice, glaring now at Death through Chuck Shurley's bright blue eyes. "Sibling rivalry cannot be helped—it's natural in both human and angel nature."

"Because humans kill their brothers and sisters when they can't be on top—" Death sang sarcastically before shaking his head. "Well, at least not the sane ones…You know, part of me wonders if this really is you wanting your beasts of children to fix this mess on their own."

"What do you mean?" God asked, eyes piercing through Death's relaxed posture. The entity swiveled his attention to the Creator with raised eyebrows, wearing an expression that clearly read: _you're kidding me, stop playing dumb._

"You know what I'm saying," Death drawled out. "You don't think the angels can fix this problem anymore—they're too far gone and lost without a voice to guide them. As for you, you want to help but you can't, because you're scared. You've been away for so long; they might not listen to you if you return."

"You make it sound like a fixable matter," God muttered, raking human fingers through hair.

"Then fix it."

"How?" God whispered, posture slumping in dejection. Death inhaled slowly before standing up. "You're leaving?" He asked. Death pursed his lips.

"I have a few reapers to assign in the Ukraine." Death announced. "Though to answer your question, you are their father—just control your little winged brats before I take matters into my own hands."

"You wouldn't…"

"Oh, but I would. Should I deal with another subject similar to Castiel's and is proven linked to one of your darling angels, I will step up. Though I really couldn't care less for humanity, natural order is something I respect and it's been ruined for so long."

"Speaking of natural order, I'm surprised you haven't griped about the Winchesters," God called out to Death's retreating back.

"The boys are still fools if that's what you want to hear." Death tossed over his shoulder. "But I mean it. Fix. Your. Children." And with that, the entity had disappeared, leaving the Creator once again alone.

God stared out into the navy sky, forgetting when the transition from orange to blue had begun. How was he supposed to fix a huge mess that he had helped create? Where did it even begin?

With Lucifer, the Cage was supposed to be an angel version of the time out seat. He wanted Lucifer to learn his lesson, not burn with hatred that would result in resentment to the point he would even kill his brother just to stress his hate for humanity. It pained him to hear Lucifer's cries for mercy the first time he was sent to the Cage. Sometimes He could still hear the screams of his favorite son, ringing in his ears as if it was just yesterday.

And then there was the issue with Michael, who loved Lucifer and withdrawn himself after the Morningstar's fall. God scratched at his—Chuck's— beard in frustration. Now thinking about it, what kind of father asked his own children to disown each other—let alone let them _kill_ one another. It didn't just pertain to Michael and Lucifer, but with his other children too. They were a family once—a rather content and harmonious family. Sure, there were a few flaws, but for the most part, it was good.

How many prayers had he heard from his children that he had left ignored? Samandriel was innocent, and he had done nothing wrong. Muriel was honorable. Gabriel just wanted the fighting to stop. Abner had embraced humanity as a second chance and died in the hands of a misled brother. Anna lost her faith in him and never even saw his face. Now they were all dead, probably thinking he didn't care at all, when in fact it was the opposite…

With each angel that died, God felt a little piece of himself burn inside. They were his creations—made of stars He handpicked himself. He knew each one of them—of course He would know when one of them dropped lifeless, which was happening more and more lately.

And then there was Castiel, who chose free will—who tried so hard to make things right, carrying the weight of both the world and heaven on his shoulders. Who had torn grace and was now using another angel's. Who considered two flawed boys as more of a family than his own angelic brothers and sisters. Who searched for him from each end of the earth, in need for his father's advice. And He stayed silent.

This wasn't how the angels were supposed to be. They were supposed to be a symbol of faith for humanity—a comfort to humans who needed hope; and here they were, killing each other in a power struggle, left and right; angel factions were forming now on earth with Heaven's gate closed and here He was, sitting on top of the Pyramids of Giza. This needed to end. Death was right—his wayward children needed their father. But he was scared. What was he supposed to do? For millennia, he was gone. Many of his children had never even seen his face. How was he supposed to return to Heaven now, only to look down upon the world he created and see many of his children dead or fallen?

Standing up from his perching post, God placed his hands on his hips and stared far out into the night sky. He could hear the laughter of young fledgings echo in his mind—the sound of Lucifer singing Enochian in the angelic choir, standing with Michael by his side, smiling together—both so young and beautiful: the Righteous son and the Morningstar. He remembered watching as the fledgings from afar spread open their wings, each angel having their own shade of feathers.

He was overwhelmed by the sudden nostalgia—memories of how things were before Lucifer's fall—before things went rolling straight to hell.

_Well, that's the awesome thing about being God, right? _The actual Chuck Shurley voiced internally. God sometimes forgot the human was still in there. For the most part, Chuck just listened. _You can make things happen that aren't exactly natural pertaining to the average human. You reminisce too much. Maybe if there was a do-over—a second chance to raise the angels right. _

The thought made God smile. He knew exactly what to do.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

So I'm a huge lover of the whole 'nice angel family idea', so I sorta have this AU thing going on where God decides to come back and fix his broken family because he's just 100% done with them killing each other and betraying each other and stabbing each other in the back (both literally and figuratively, tag: Balthazar).

It is spring break, so I've been writing (or should I say typing?) up a storm these past few days. I have a few one-shots being made in the process, but that's irrelevant to this story.

In regards to this piece, it can stand alone as a one-shot, however, I do have a vague plan-out in mind and I've actually wrote out half of a second chapter to this (le gasp!). It probably isn't a good idea to be starting up a project when, after this week is finished, updates might become a little infrequent/sporadic. Soooo depending on the feedback, if you guys want me to continue, then give me a shout out in the box below, and even if you think this is good _as is_, I'd still love to hear from you!


End file.
